True, ’tis true, of what you say
This sadness, so provoking, stay
And feed this overwhelming loss
Where poetry does fully ‘lease.
Break the flow a’from the walls!
And charge a’through these broken halls!
Beat them down and flow the ground!
And crush these hurts into the mound!
Ohhh, the hurt does call to us,
We writers of the placid hand
Where thick, emotions tend to flow
And always ever ending row.
And wind is heard, and that afar
This man, this bird, awake they are.
To hear the thundering of the waves
The billows, down they fall; cascade.
And still to see the setting sun
Upon the back, this beauteous one.
This water falling down the way
And sorrow, kept in whirled way.
Down the stream and to the sky
This always runs, never does end.
Ah, but you see, you must pretend
Not stay, but follow it along.
Run until this stream portends
And finally in lake it ends.
Puddles fully, despaires unknown
Let not your coils struggle within.
These convolutions full and thick
Of doleful thoughts, my friend does stick
To these ways of sulking head
And drooping mind, her eyes do tread.
No poetry does she now write
Only prose, that now a rite.
Before our times, never let own
This sorrow and that grasp your soul.
“Let not your heart be troubled” by
These things and let it be lifted up.
For in these trials we learn and grow
In Christ, our King, we always know.
He the maker, we the tree
We bear fruit because of He.
Glorious and pondered much
His Word is set in stone and such
Is so that we may understand
These golden, fiery, lancing words
Of Truth, divine, and from His tongue
They are, truly, the Words of Life.
You know what, I’m sorry! This is really long and indeed I do have much time for it; even this is only is in response to the first half; the first poem that you had writ. On with the second, I shall continue:
Oh, yes! Verity and mightily arrayed
These truths of characters endowed.
I understand your conflict here
Your thoughts on ripping, minds of flesh.
Not literally, now, you see
But more the emotional type, I tell;
And this wondersome anomaly:
Within a cumbersome analogy.
This hilarious and fruitful thought
That your plight of sorrow; cast, wrought
On poetry and penned in ink
Oh, billowous and purple, pink.
The whole mission of said above
The promoting reason of this dove
Of embers of a story, long
And fruitful with these topics, strong –
You now shall see my reasoning
Behind this idol, stranger talk:
This story ember idea
To bring about the skills of us,
The Christian writers, poets, painters
Of the pen and of the paper
To create in us, a bursting art
And in this, too, what you’ve witnessed
Within your book, of what’sitcalled
And satire, a nut kit mauled
By the author, and he to you
Has taken talents, used them true.
You know, I think we’ve taken this idea of having a short, nice little competition of writing COUPLETS to the other side. XD
And yes, ’tis both; the movie, book and talk
Of which I have rendered free
A higher feat.
For it is in itself a rock,
Of harder traits, these words do knock
Upon the door of Mordor’s gates
And up unto the Durdureth.
Yeah, that one’s one of my favourite parts in the movie!!! XD!! *I dropped me brain* Ohhh, so great.
True, true; they really are some of the better ones, those of the whimwrit. Hey!!! A new word!!! Whimwrit poetry…hmmm. I coined it!!! *looking around aggressively* My word! My rock! (have you seen the new Jungle Book? That part where the porcupine is walking around claiming things. XD!!!